


Haunting Park Jinyoung

by heros_wings



Category: GOT7
Genre: AU, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Happy halloween, Humor, I'm Sorry, Just Friends, Platonic Relationships, i am trash, i killed everyone but jinyoung basically, jackson definitely has a crush on jaebum, jinyoung might have a tiny crush on mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heros_wings/pseuds/heros_wings
Summary: Jinyoung is haunted by six very annoying ghosts.





	1. Jaebum

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are all loosely connected...there's no real timeline. This whole thing is a result of watching "Master's Sun" and the theory that everyone but Jinyoung died in the Fly/Hard Carry trailers.

Jinyoung had been able to see ghosts since he was a child. The first ghost he saw was his grandmother. He remembered standing at his mother’s side, barely tall enough to reach her waist, watching in mild curiosity as strangers offered her and his father their condolences before paying their respects to his grandmother’s memorial at the front of the room. 

Jinyoung had seen his grandmother standing just inside the room, watching on with a sad kind of peace. She hadn't stayed long — just enough to smile fondly at the old couple with whom she would often converse while taking her usual strolls in the neighborhood before she became too sick. Jinyoung tugged on the hem of his mother’s sweater, jabbered something about grandmother being in the room, and pointed to where she stood.

Understanding and patient as she always was, his mother looked to where he was pointing. But his grandmother had already gone.

With a quick apology to their newly arrived guests, she crouched down to eye level, and explained with a sad smile that “grandma is in heaven now, Jinyoung.”

Confused, he continued to stare at the spot his grandmother had appeared, but she never returned.

A few years later, he asked his teachers about the little boy on the playground with a dirty face and grey clothes. Why didn't he come inside when the rest of the class did? Why did the other kids and teachers ignore him? Jinyoung had tried talking to him, but he never spoke back. Instead, he would stare blankly at Jinyoung before running away and eventually vanishing just before he reached the playground gates. This happened over and over again until Jinyoung finally gave up.

His teachers had been accommodating at first. Explaining that they had never seen such a boy, even telling his mother in that condescending tone adults often used when talking about children, that he had a very “active” imagination. After he dragged his best friend, Wonpil, over to the boy, his teachers’ patience had finally run out and he was sent home with a note admonishing him for scaring the other children with stories of a ghost boy at school.

Jinyoung never mentioned ghosts again after that.

They were always different. Some looked more solid than others, more human. So human, in fact, that Jinyoung had once earned a number of stares as he chatted at the bus stop with a friendly old man, only to realize later he had died nearly fifty years ago. Jinyoung still chatted with him, though it was much more discreet, and only when the bus stop was empty.

Other ghosts were barely visible and looked much more like the transparent creatures often seen in movies.

Some were talkative. Others were shy. Most just left him alone, which suited him just fine. He was just thankful they were all peaceful. His biggest fear was eventually meeting a ghost like the ones shown in horror films. The kind with blood dripping from their hairlines, white eyes, tattered clothes, and a murderous vengeance. He had seen bloodied ghosts before, but they were sad, depressing things, often wandering aimlessly, some barely aware they were dead, some restless with the knowledge their killer was never caught. They were terrifying to look at, but harmless.

It wasn't until his first year of high school did he ever have a ghost other than the old man frequently appear just to see him.

Jaebum was, technically, a poltergeist. He haunted Jinyoung’s high school, and was able to move and touch physical objects.

Poltergeists were often quite mischievous at best, and violently destructive at worst. Jaebum was neither. Not really. But he _did_ have a bit of a temper, which he took out on the piano in their music room, pounding out angry songs Jinyoung’s classmates would never recognize because they were of Jaebum’s own creation. But mostly, he was just clumsy, which resulted in a lot of upturned mop buckets and knocked over desks.

Needless to say, Jaebum was not exactly a secret. Many of the more superstitious students swore their school was haunted by a benevolent spirit or poltergeist. Others insisted it was just the overactive, sleep-deprived imaginations of their immature classmates.

Jinyoung didn't mind Jaebum. He would even admit that he liked him. If he wasn't a ghost, maybe he would even called Jaebum a friend (and even so, Jaebum insisted on being called _“hyung”_ ). And some days, Jinyoung preferred his company to that of his classmates.

Today was not one of those days.

“I named her Nora,” Jaebum beamed at him, showing all of his teeth, his eyes turned up in happy crescent moons.

“How did you get a cat onto the roof?!” Jinyoung asked incredulously.

Jaebum grinned, and lifted a piece of grass. Nora, the Siamese kitten he had apparently found, jumped to try and catch it. When Jaebum lifted the blade above her reach, her eyes followed it as her tail swished in anticipation for the moment he would lower it again.

"A kitten flying through the halls would freak people out,” he replied.

Jinyoung was pretty sure a floating bit of grass being chased by a kitten wasn’t much of an improvement, but what did he know.

“She needs food and water,” Jaebum said without looking at Jinyoung. His eyes were fixed on the kitten as he continued to play with her.

Jinyoung stared at him, frowning.

“No.”

Jaebum looked up at him. Jinyoung had never seen Jaebum pout before, but he was doing an annoyingly good job of it. He felt his resolve begin to weaken and immediately tried to snap it back into place.

“You can't keep a _cat_ up here, _hyung_.”

Jaebum's eyes widened pleadingly. 

_“No.”_

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jinyoung dropped cat food, toys, and a water bowl on the floor with a scowl. 

Jaebum beamed at him and immediately picked up the bag of cat food and the bowl Jinyoung bought with the money he had been saving for a new book.

Jinyoung watched him delightedly pouring the food, and push it towards the kitten, who immediately began to eat. Sighing, he threw himself on the ground next to Jaebum and watched the kitten eat.

“It's getting colder, out…” Jaebum commented in a way that was supposed to sound off-handed and casual, but Jinyoung knew better.

“No.”

“She’ll _freeze,_ Jinyoung.”

“No.”

Jaebum glared at him before standing and stalking off and through the door that led back inside.

Sighing, Jinyoung looked back at a Nora, who was staring up at him. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don't you judge me, _you_ were the one lured up here by a _ghost.”_

 

* * *

 

Three days. Three days of the piano pounding, upturned desks, toilets flushing and clogging, and missing chalkboard erasers. Jinyoung finally had enough after he found his papers and books strewn across the floor.

He slammed open the door to the roof, preparing himself for a shouting match with a ghost who could very likely just toss him over the ledge if he truly felt the urge.

Jaebum didn't even acknowledge him. He kept his back turned and just watched Nora nap in the sun, stretched out across the pavement as far as her little body would allow. 

Sighing, Jinyoung dropped next to him and laid back spread eagle on the roof so he was staring up at the cloudless sky.

“How long are you going to ignore me and simultaneously destroy the school?”

No answer.

With another sigh, he turned his head to stare at Jaebum, who had his knees tucked to his chest so he could rest his eyes chin on them as he continued to stare unblinkingly at Nora. For a ghost who had just very nearly set the chemistry lab on fire earlier that morning, Jaebum looked shockingly non-threatening.

“Pretty sure if you want to burn down the school, the Bunsen burners would be more effective than Potassium and wet rags in the trash.”

Jaebum snorted but didn't reply.

Jinyoung continued to watch Jaebum. And Jaebum continued to watch Nora.

Ghosts were, by their nature, not very cheerful creatures. But it was hard to ignore the gentle look in Jaebum’s eyes when he looked at Nora. It was almost like happiness. Or, as happy as a restless spirit could be.

Jinyoung was going to regret this. He _knew_ he was going to regret the next words that came out of his mouth. But Jaebum’s wide, toothy, crescent moon eyed smile made the incredulous look on his mother’s face and the hours of arguing with his father, worth it.

Even if bringing Nora home, apparently, meant bringing Jaebum home too.


	2. Youngjae

Some ghosts didn't even realize they were dead. Jinyoung often caught these ghosts reliving different moments of their life, or chillingly, their deaths. 

Then there was Choi Youngjae, the boy haunting his apartment complex, who went in and out of awareness of his own death. Some mornings, he would appear just outside the building and wave at Jinyoung with a cheerful “Good morning, _hyung_!” even though Jinyoung knew Youngjae would be older than him now if he hadn't died at such a young age a few years earlier.

Other mornings, like this one, Jinyoung found him pacing up and down the hallway just outside his apartment with a panic-stricken look. When he spotted Jinyoung, he rushed over and grabbed his shoulders (a very unpleasant experience, as it felt like being doused with ice water). Jinyoung quickly stepped back and rubbed his arms to try and restore some warmth.

“ _Hyung!”_ he cried in a voice so loud, Jinyoung believed it a small miracle he was the only living person who could hear him. “My SATs are today and I missed my bus!” he moaned, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “What do I do? My mother will _kill_ me!”

Sighing, Jinyoung readjusted his bag on his shoulder. Mornings like these were often why _he_ was late for school.

“Youngjae...listen to me…”

Youngjae looked at him, eyes still wide, and clad in the school uniform he had died in. Jinyoung thought he looked so much younger than 16.

“You don't have an exam today.”

Youngjae blinked, like he often did when he was slowly returning to the present time. Jinyoung had never met a ghost like him. Most were either totally aware of their surroundings or totally unaware. For Youngjae, who Jinyoung only met after his death despite living in the same apartment complex, he often knew who Jinyoung was but forgot he was dead.

“You died,” he continued as gently as he could. Sometimes Youngjae didn't take the news too well and Jinyoung had to recount the whole story for him while watching him break down into tears.

Youngjae's shoulders slumped. He looked devastated. 

“I am?”

Jinyoung nodded.

“You died crossing the street…”

With a sudden, loud shout, Youngjae's gripped his hair in horrible realization.

“MY GAME!” he moaned. “I was almost at the top level!”

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung headed towards the stairs. Youngjae followed him, still lamenting about his game.

“You realize you _died_ because you were playing that game, right?” Jinyoung muttered before they made it to the bus stop. Once they were there, they wouldn't be able to talk without attracting stares.

“Yah,” Youngjae’s voice turned sulky, as it often did when his death was brought up. “That car ran the red light, it's not like it was my fault.”

Jinyoung just rolled his eyes again.

At the bus stop, sometimes Youngjae would disappear, but other mornings he would stand there and sing. Today he stared around at the students, office workers, and other pedestrians and sang quietly to himself with a small smile.

Jinyoung loved listening to him sing. It was how they first met. He had heard Youngjae singing outside one night on his way home. It was shortly after his death, and Jinyoung had even found a discarded newspaper with the report. He felt shaken, having never met a ghost who had died so recently. But Youngjae was bright and cheerful, and seemed more concerned about how his family was getting on without him. He told Jinyoung he sang because it brought him comfort.

“And who knows,” he had smiled, “maybe my family will hear me.”


	3. Mark

One of the strangest ghosts Jinyoung ever met was a young American of Taiwanese descent – Mark Tuan. 

In the years Jinyoung had known him, he rarely spoke, and was barely visible. Mark looked more like a faint, distant reflection of a person in a window rather than a more solid form like many ghosts Jinyoung encountered. He haunted the convenience store between school and Jinyoung's apartment, but sometimes, he appeared unannounced in his kitchen.

Despite his silence, Mark seemed strangely attached to him. He particularly enjoyed watching Jinyoung eat. It was quite disconcerting at first, having a silent ghost staring at him so intently as he ate, but after a year, Jinyoung had become so used to it that he felt almost lonely on the nights Mark wasn't there.

Then there were nights, in which Jinyoung wished Mark would just _let him eat_ _what he wanted._

“Ramen _again_?” he complained as Mark beamed at him from the aisle Jinyoung usually found him lurking.

The cashier looked up from his phone long enough to raise a judgmental eyebrow.

Jinyoung offered a quick apology and turned back to Mark.

“ _I had ramen yesterday_ ,” he hissed.

But Mark pointed and the spicy seafood ramen he seemed to favor, with a pleading expression.

Jinyoung cursed that look. Mostly he cursed Mark for looking simultaneously pathetic with his pout, and beautiful with his faint existence, torn jeans, red flannel, light brown hair, and bright, youthful expressions. Mark looked like someone Jinyoung could fall in love with had he been alive. It was this thought that made him snatch the ramen off the shelf and head to the cashier.

“Why do you like watching me eat so much?” he asked once they were back in his apartment, ramen cooked and ready to be eaten.

He placed the pot on the table and grabbed a pair of chopsticks as Mark watched, silent as always.

When Jinyoung sat and took his first bite, Mark smiled at him from across the table. It was a bit odd seeing a barely-there ghost sitting with the back of the chair clearly visible through his body.

“Well?” he prompted again. “Don't play that silent act on me...I know you can talk.”

Grinning, Mark leaned forward on his elbows, careful not to sink through the table. Jinyoung felt the heat rise to his cheeks. With a devious look, Mark blew on the noodles Jinyoung held between his chopsticks.

“Yah!”

Mark continued to grin at him and sat back in his seat, gesturing for him to eat.

Mark wasn't solid enough to touch anything but he was like every other ghost in that he was extremely cold. Touching him was like being thrown into a pool of ice water, and his breath was like a bone-freezing wind. Once, he had frozen an entire pot of stew just to see if he _could_. Jinyoung hadn't eaten a single thing Mark wanted for a week.

“They're _cold_ now,” he complained, dropping the cold noodles into the pot to heat them up again.

Mark just smiled at him, his pointed teeth making him look all the more devilish.

Grumbling, Jinyoung swirled the noodles in the broth before grabbing them with his chopsticks again.

Just as he was finishing his dinner, a soft, pleasant voice he rarely heard, made him look up.

“Tomorrow, let’s get _galbitang_.”

Jinyoung smiled, all of the tension from the long day slipping instantly from his muscles.

“Ok.”


	4. Yugyeom

The first time Jinyoung met Kim Yugyeom, the ghost was trying to unscrew all of the light bulbs in this house. 

 _Another_ poltergeist, he thought irritably when he finally caught him at it.

He had just moved into his first apartment, when a few odd things began to happen on the first night — the faucet in his kitchen started running on its own, his toilet flushed, and when he woke the next morning, half his belongings still in boxes were strewn all over the floor.

There was no doubt that his new apartment was haunted. Which was just _great_ , considering Mark, Jaebum, _and_ Youngjae had somehow all attached themselves to him and floated in and out of his apartment as if it were their own. And _this_ particular hell spawn was completely invisible and refused to show himself.

“You can't like... _see_ him or something?” he grumbled at Jaebum irritably.

Jaebum looked up from where he sat on the floor with Nora, who had her eyes fixed on the cat toy dangled in front of her. Jinyoung was never sure if she could actually see Jaebum or if cats simply didn't care that their toys floated without support.

“Invisible is invisible, Jinyoung.”

He groaned and flung himself face-first onto the couch. He hadn't slept in _days_ because of the incessant banging, moaning, and high-pitched _cackling._

“I wonder what he wants,” Youngjae mused, morphing through the door unannounced.

Mark appeared like smoke next to where Jinyoung’s head was buried in the pillows.

“You look like you need some ramen.”

He sighed, giving up on ever just living his life, or eating what he wanted again.

 

It had taken _weeks_ before Yugyeom finally showed himself.

“YOU!” Jinyoung shouted, throwing his slipper at the poltergeist, who dodged it with an indignant squawk and quickly hid behind the hanging light in his kitchen.

“You can't see me!”

Jinyoung threw his other slipper.

“Get out of my house!”

The poltergeist stuck in tongue out and threw the light bulb he just unscrewed, at Jinyoung’s head. It shattered against the wall behind him.

“I was here first!”

By the time Jaebum floated  through the wall, the kitchen was strewn with knives, chopsticks, and the pot Jinyoung used to make ramen.

Jaebum raised an eyebrow at the scene.

“Who threw the knives?”

“HE DID!” Yugyeom and Jinyoung shouted in unison.

 

It was another week before Yugyeom stopped banging open cabinets and turning on his television at full volume in the middle of the night. Every time Jinyoung would catch him trying to destroy another part of his home, Yugyeom would stick out his tongue and zoom away with a resounding, _“merong!”_

Yugyeom was young, close Youngjae’s age, with clothes and hair to match a long ago era. He would later learn that Yugyeom had died at the hands of a Japanese patrolman during the occupation. Jinyoung wanted to feel bad for him. But as he had made it his duty to annoy Jinyoung on a daily basis, his sympathy was limited.

“Jinyoung-iie wake up!” Yugyeom sing-songed right before he upended a bucket of ice on Jinyoung's head the moment his alarm went off.

 

“I swear I am going to get an exorcist,” he muttered tiredly a few days later, stirring around his bean paste stew.

Mark just smiled and gave an obligatory hum of agreement, though Jinyoung could see his eyes fixed on the spoon.

“Do you know what he did this morning?” he said, completely ignoring the way Mark’s shoulders slumped disappointingly as he threw his spoon down, splattering the table in red broth. “He stood outside the shower and I _walked through him.”_

“So rude.” Mark nodded as if he cared. “Stew will warm you up.”

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung picked up his spoon again.

Maybe Jaebum would help.

 

“Nope,” Jaebum deadpanned, frowning at a stain on the counter. “Aren't you going to clean that up?”

With a frustrated groan, Jinyoung snatched a rag and wiped it up. Youngjae would understand him.

 

“Sorry, _hyung_ ,” Youngjae said, truly looking apologetic. “There's nothing I can do. Maybe if you just make peace—”

Jinyoung walked away and slammed his bedroom door shut.

 

“Jinyoung-iiiieeee!”

 _No_ , he thought stubbornly, upon hearing Yugyeom's voice. He was buried under three blankets and a mountain of pillows and he _knew_ it was Saturday which meant he was allowed to sleep in.

A cold stream of air blew into his ear. And Jinyoung made the mistake of swiping angrily at the source. His hand felt like it had been encased in ice.

With an enraged yell, he chucked a pillow at Yugyeom, who giggled delightedly and swooped out of his room.

“Mark said you want waffles for breakfast!”

Just as Jinyoung buried his head under his pillows and let out a disparaging cry, Youngjae appeared.

“He's hung all of your underwear on the balcony railing...and it's snowing.”


	5. Bambam

“You know there are actual, real health problems associated with the way you live right?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the essay he was supposed to be finishing. Mark watched lazily from where he floated a few inches off the arm of the couch, as Jaebum and Yugyeom took turns tossing a small puff ball for Nora to chase. Youngjae was watching an idol program with a sad kind of longing, and Jinyoung's _latest_ ghostly headache was standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl. 

“It's literally one dirty pot, Bam.”

“ _Bacteria_ , Jinyoung… _hyung,”_ he added after a sharp look from Jaebum. “Do you know how much bacteria is festering in your sink right now? You didn't even rinse it out!”

“ _It's been an hour!”_

Bambam was more lanky than he was tall, but still seemed to tower over Jinyoung as he glowered down at him. Not that Jinyoung paid him any more attention than he did the others. He wasn't even solid enough to throw anything (though he _was_ perfectly capable of convincing Yugyeom to do it, and had on multiple occasions), which made him significantly less imposing than he'd like to think he was, despite the nagging.

“Can't you go haunt someone in Thailand?” Jinyoung muttered moodily.

Bambam growled something in Thai that Jinyoung assumed was incredibly offensive, before fading out of the room completely (probably to haunt his neighbors who, Jinyoung just _knew_ had to be messier than him and his one dirty pot).

“You really shouldn't provoke him, you know,” Jaebum said, tossing the puff ball and watching Nora sprint after it. “You know how he gets.”

Jinyoung ignored him and just stared at the screen. It was a good ten minutes before he snapped his laptop shut with an annoyed shout, and stormed into the kitchen to clean the damn pot.

“Your laundry needs to be done too,” Bambam appeared behind him, looking smug.

Jinyoung whirled around and chucked the sponge through Bambam’s chest.

He must have betrayed his country in his previous lifetime, he thought bitterly as he returned to the living room and stubbornly settled himself deep into the cushions, as Bambam followed him, lamenting on how he was just trying to _help_ , because leaving jeans and shirts all over the floor wasn't just messy, it was dangerous.

“You could trip and break your neck! Really, I'm just looking out for you!”

“Don't you have a shopping mall to haunt and customers to whisper fashion advice to?”

“Stop changing the topic.”

Jinyoung sunk lower into the couch and stared at the TV. A girl group he didn't know the name of was singing and dancing to something incredibly too cute to be allowed.

“I regret ever walking into that store,” he grumbled. “I'm never shopping again. I'm just going to order everything online.”

“Your room _is_ a little messy,” Jaebum chimed in with an annoyingly neutral tone.

Jinyoung glared at him as Yugyeom cackled. Bringing in an exorcist was beginning to look like a much more attractive option. His entire life he had been able to see ghosts, and yet _never_ had any of them except these five attach themselves to him. Ever. Most ghosts didn't even _care_ that Jinyoung could see them. They went about their ghostly business and left him alone. And yet here he was, in his living room, with five ghosts, as if he wasn't the only living thing in the room besides the _cat_.

“Maybe if you had some ice cream…” Mark suggested quietly with poorly masked hope.

Sighing, Jinyoung stood and headed towards the kitchen.

“ _No_!” Bambam wailed, chasing after him. “Your _laundry, hyung_!”

Jinyoung pulled out what he _knew_ must have been Mark’s favorite ice cream when he was alive, pointedly ignoring Bambam as he ripped off the wrapper and purposely dropping it on the counter instead of the trash.

“Are you _trying_ to kill me?” Bambam moaned, hands gripping his hair. “ _Don't_ you _dare_ say it!” he pointing at Jinyoung, who smirked.

“You're already dead.”

“I hate you so much.”

Jinyoung just sucked on his popsicle as he turned to return to the living room.

Suddenly, cold washed over him as if he had jumped into an icy lake. Bambam had walked through him and smirked over his shoulder when Jinyoung let out an angry shout.

“YAH!”

“Oops, sorry _hyung_ ,” he replied without a single ounce of sincerity. If he hadn’t already been dead, Jinyoung would kill him.

“I am _so_ getting an exorcist,” he muttered, flinging himself back on the couch, and reaching for the blanket he kept thrown on the back of it. He was going to be cold for the rest of the night.

“Until that happens, you _really_ should think about at least _organizing_ your books, if you’re not going to get rid of any of them.”

Jinyoung threw his popsicle at Bambam, and then immediately regretted it after it flew through him, hit the wall, and landed on his carpet.

He definitely  — _definitely_ — betrayed his country in a former life.


	6. Jackson

Jinyoung had the unfortunate luck to have attracted a _sixth_ ghost who didn’t seem to understand that ghosts were supposed to _mind their own damn business_ and leave Jinyoung alone.

Jackson Wang. 

Died over a hundred years ago, apparently protecting his “master” while they were visiting Korea as part of a Chinese delegation. Jackson was a little sketchy on the details, and Jinyoung strongly suspected his death wasn’t _quite_ as honorable as he made it sound.

Ghosts were funny creatures in that some couldn’t even remember that they died. Others were in such denial that they _had_ died that they often simply re-enacted their deaths over and over forever. Some didn’t want to talk about it at all. And then there was Jackson. Who took great pleasure in telling Jinyoung every detail about his life, from his _very first memory_ as a child, to his last dying breath.

And the story of his death was...inconsistent.

“I thought you said you died fighting ten rebel soldiers,” Jinyoung said, only half interested as Jackson followed him home from University.

“When did I say that?” Jackson asked vaguely, his eyes following students as they passed.

“Yesterday.”

“Oh, no it was a _fierce_ battle,” Jackson amended, throwing his hands up dramatically, his voice raising in pitch as it often did when he was excited. “The enemy surrounded my master’s home, and ambushed us from all sides!” He mimicked battling an invisible enemy as they walked, a bright smile on his face.

Jinyoung rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. Jackson was hard to dislike, even if he didn’t know the meaning of “alone time” or “quiet”.

Jackson recounted a dramatic battle wherein he took on an entire army single handedly only to lose his life in one, glorious blow. Jinyoung listened, adding in a hum or exclamation of surprise at all the appropriate moments.

Jackson was more solid than either Bambam or Mark, but still faint in the bright sunlight. He wore a simple tunic and pants shoved into boots (another reason Jinyoung suspected he hadn't exactly died in battle – ghosts appeared in the clothing they died in...or lack thereof). And while most ghosts simply stuck to one place or, in Jinyoung’s case, one person, Jackson seemed to come and go as he pleased, even traveling as far as Australia. The only connection seemed to be he always appeared in crowded, busy places.

And Jinyoung’s apartment.

Apparently.

Though Jinyoung strongly suspected Jackson’s motivation for following him home had little to do with him, and more to do with a certain poltergeist.

“Jaebum-ahhh– _hyung!”_ he flew (literally) through Jinyoung's door before Jinyoung could even unlock it.

Sighing, he followed Jackson, who had done his best to attach himself to a rather exasperated Jaebum. It was quite a sight to see a ghost trying to actually hold on to another – neither were perfectly solid (even Jaebum had accidentally floated through him, despite being solid enough to hold objects).

“When are you going to stop bringing home strays?” Jaebum joked lightly, his eyes fond as they looked at Jackson, who beamed under the attention.

“When they stop following me home,” Jinyoung replied, throwing his bag on the couch, and ignoring Bambam’s indignant squawk from where he floated right above the space Jinyoung had thrown it.

“Just because you can throw things through me doesn't mean you should!”

“Just because _you_ can float through walls and invade my _house_ whenever you please doesn't mean you should, either,” Jinyoung retorted, making his way to the kitchen.

“Kimchi fried rice?” Mark ghosted in (or perhaps Jinyoung simply hadn't seen him) with a hopeful smile.

Sighing, Jinyoung started pulling out everything he needed. In the living room, he could see Jackson at it again with his stories, his arms flailing everywhere as he acted out the more dramatic parts for Jaebum, who simply watched him with a dazed kind of smile like he wasn't quite sure what to think of Jackson but found him endearing nonetheless.

Jinyoung caught Mark watching him and quickly busied himself with preparing the fried rice. If Mark noticed the faint tinge of pink on his cheeks, he didn't say anything (not that he ever did anyway).

“He’s lying,” Mark spoke up suddenly, making Jinyoung look up again.

“What?”

Mark shrugged and tilted his head towards where Jackson was recounting his death for Jaebum (this time losing his life on horseback during battle).

Jinyoung rolled his eyes and dumped the rice into his pan. “I know that, but I don't think Jackson does.”

Not that it bothered Jinyoung. He assumed Jackson simply didn't know how he died. If ghosts existed that didn't even know they were dead, it was possible that there were also ghosts who didn't know _how_ they died.

“Didn't you die of like...the flu or something?” Jinyoung heard Bambam ask.

He didn't have to look up from his cooking to imagine the way the Thai boy screwed up in nose – half judgmental, half disgusted at the thought of the _germs_ that came with one infected with the flu.

Jackson responded with an offended shout. “I was an _elite_ officer of the Emperor's guard!”

Bambam snorted and muttered something that Jinyoung couldn't hear, but drew a stern reprimand from Jaebum.

“Jinyoung!” Jackson appeared suddenly at his side.

He jumped so violently that he flung half the contents in his pan across the stove and counter.

Mark let out a distressed whine as Jinyoung sighed.

“Jackson!”

Jackson shrunk back with an apologetic look, his hands held up in surrender. “I'm sorry...sorry...but…” he took a step back and straightened. “You believe me right?” he asked hopefully.

Jinyoung shut off the stove and dumped the remainder of his fried rice into a shallow bowl, leaving the mess on the stove and counter for Bambam to find later.

“That you died valiantly or that you totally don't have some weird ghost crush on Jaebum?” he paused just inside the threshold of his kitchen and stared out into his living room. “Can ghosts even fall in love?” he asked idly.

“I– what–! Who said– I don’t–!” Jackson sputtered as he followed Jinyoung into the living room. “I totally died fighting like twenty people, ok? Don't I deserve at least a sticker or something?!” he practically shouted. “Not even a monument. Not _one_ mention of Wang Jia Er in any textbook or history documentary–!”

“You couldn’t even wear a sticker even if you got one,” Bambam deadpanned.

Jackson glowered at him. Jinyoung ignored all of them and ate his fried rice.

This was his life now, he thought. Listening to a bunch of ghosts argue over the validity of another’s death. He wasn’t entirely disappointed but it was admittedly disconcerting that his ghostly friends outnumbered his living, human friends.

“Didn't Jackson die in a horse accident?” Youngjae chimed in, followed by a loud cackle as Yugyeom joined on the fun.

“I heard he drowned in the Han river after too much _makgeolli_!”

Jackson moaned and begged _anyone_ to believe him that he'd died valiantly. Jaebum, of course, smiled and indulgently told Jackson he believed him. Mark shrugged, and Jinyoung muttered some incoherent affirmation that he believed whatever would keep Jackson from continuing to talk about it.

Having a bunch of ghost friends wasn't exactly _normal_ or _ideal,_ but when Jinyoung thought about a life without them, everything came back empty.

Even if Bambam was now making a hell of a lot of noise over the fried rice covering the stove and counter.


End file.
